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Dark Kangdom
Crackpot Mailbox: Big Ron Clues James on the Latest Anarchotyranny Trend


Loch Raven

Wed, Oct 16, 8:04 PM (4 days ago)

Sent from my Samsung Galaxy smartphone

Take care.

Big Ron

The news story above focuses on sinking tax money into a recently thriving section of Baltimore County, one of 18 districts targeted for government assistance in "revitalizing," necessary because the federal government won a judgment against Baltimore county 2.5 years ago which forced the County to import federally subsidized and necessarily fatherless families from the 5 worst zip codes in Baltimore City to the 5 best zip codes in Baltimore County. The crossroads at Joppa and Loch Raven and the neighborhoods within 1.5 miles in each direction are now under siege by the new paramilitaries.

Police presence is at 10% of what it was 2 years ago.

Ghost folk can no longer walk after dark without being beaten and or robbed by ebon warriors.

Fred's mixed race family is seeing ebon on ghost violence within it.

Big Ron watched two ebon warriors fell another, brutally ganging up on him and taking him down. Granted, this was in the City on the way home, not out in the County. But it is a thing to come, something I have never seen ghost men do, only ebons. Our new masters, assigned by the economic machine we worship as our only tangible God, are every bit as brutish as the ancient masters that an earlier faith placed over our ancestors as pillagers and terrorists.

The local elementary school was locked down during a shooting that went unreported in the news.

Ebon warriors are seen skulking through ghost yards and inventorying the contents of their houses as they peer through windows boldly, by day.

I stood in the rain soaked, waiting for the safe house door to open. For, though I have a key, storm doors must be locked when residents are home against the threat of invasion. The owners could not hear me knock as the concert level hip hop thundered from each of the adjoining houses in the Sunday rain.

Cars are double parked by their Ebony Knights who menace anyone seeking to pass, like a knight in blued armor holding some ancient bridge as a point of infantile honor.

Betty's ghost son was stomped by two ebon warriors for the crime of being born pale—the police declined to investigate.

Fred's local shopping center is broken into "every night" and the police have made no arrests.

Eddy, who beeped once at three ebon youths "bull parading" in the street so she could pass on her way home from work, was chased by them and she fled from her own neighborhood rather than let them find out she was local. She came back and parked later in the dark, terrified.

Two new projects loom a half mile off but cannot be discussed by the business owners.

On the same latitude four miles to the east five new projects are being built not a mile from where Megan and Nikki and Emma just moved. The nearby mall is regularly a scene of mass ebon violence. When they went to the park in their gated community Megan was horrified that half of the occupants were ebony, and she confided in tears, "It's going to be for Emma like it was for me when they bussed them into my school. They used to beat up the teachers and then gang up on us and rob us and beat us up when we left school. They dumbed the work down so I could do all of a month's quizzes in a day—I would just do the whole semester's work book the first day and I'd skip the next 20 days so I wouldn't get beat up. Now my granddaughter is going to get thrown to those fucking animals! Fuck that—we're moving as soon as the lease is up!"

And down in the City, on the dark inner horizon of this savage kingdom, employees at the businesses that have not yet closed at Mondawmin Mall, where the Race Purge of April 2015 kicked off, are being attacked, robbed and threatened. They posted notices demanding a squad of 5 police officers and armed private security and were told that if they did not stop making baseless charges against the armed and unpaying "customers" that they would be fired.

When I walk, I am now the only ghost-faced soul on foot. I put away the cane along with 36 pounds and carry a steel claw, enjoying life as the two-legged hyenas circle for softer prey. This reality is bitter, but better I think than the weird fantasies that the policeman is our friend and the politician is our servant that occupy the minds of the quivering media slaves huddled around their dream machines behind double-locked doors. After travelling about some of the better portions of the nation the menace and hatred is palpably in the Baltimore air.

In the future, as your home grounds are given over to the informal tax collectors of the new order and your sons are beaten on the street and your daughters lay down with their brothers' conquerors, such business association and revitalization meetings should be understood for what they are, an admission that the State has just declared open season on your pale ass.

This is the Dark Kangdom that awaits us all as we dither in our drugged slumber at the end of Ivory Time and the new order of the Ebony Empire rises from the ashes of our fantastical dreams of guilt, out of a past that never existed into a future as twisted as our trysts into the dream machines which own us. Extinction we have earned as God's most craven of the misbegotten races he tossed like dice into the devil's pit. But now at least there is an enemy to hunt and kill us and possibly wake a few from the silly lie named for an Italian confidence man who claimed to discover that which he had not.

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